


Miracles

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [473]
Category: The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hanging Out, back together, injured Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: They talk about the miracles that brought Mark back to them.





	Miracles

Mark, for all intents and purposes, is essentially confined to a bunk for the foreseeable future, given his busted ribs and his messy internal organs and his fun interactions with gravity–even the limited gravity in the bunks–every time he tries to stands.

Given that space on the Hermes has become even more limited in his absence, what with them being down two bunks, and Beck’s former bunk–lately belonging to Martinez–is the designated medical bay, personal space has become a rare commodity. As a result, everyone seems to think that crowding around Watney is a good way to spend their free time.

Mark doesn’t mind, to say the least. He spent so long hundreds of millions of miles away from others, and sometimes went days, even a week or more, without hearing even his own voice. Now these people won’t shut up. It’s somewhat refreshing.

Mark doesn’t know where they’re all sleeping, or even if they are, considering how much time they spend with him. Usually, two or three are in “his” bunk at any given time.

They talk about all sorts of things, about his health or how the ship is doing, about NASA’s latest updates, about how badly Martinez managed to kill three of his ferns. They razz him about how poorly the Cubs are doing back on Earth–same old, same old–and ask him which meal pack he wants to try next. They hum disco under their breath.

They talk about Pathfinder and the rover, potatoes and what it’s like to cross-country navigate a desolate planet. They talk about burning hydrazine and how Vogel is quite sure Watney won that one more through luck than anything.

They talk about the MAV, about finding it and modifying it and launching in it, the rescue.

“It’s a goddamn miracle–sorry, Martinez–that you made it as well as you did,” Beck says. ‘At all’ remains unspoken. “Twelve Gs. Humans weren’t meant for that.”

Malnourished and beat to hell humans weren’t meant to do that in a canvas-covered ragtop with no controls and no life support, he means.

Beck’s leaning over to take Mark’s blood pressure now, a new habit wherein he takes vitals every time he’s reminded how close Mark came to death. Mark smiles dopily. “Aw, like I’d I’d choose the laws of physics over you all,” he says. “I was making it back up here, no matter what.”

“That’s really sweet, Watney,” Martinez says obnoxiously after a brief moment of silence. “What was it you said after we pulled your stinky ass in again? Oh yeah. ‘Someone get me a cup of coffee, I didn’t survive that not to get to drink coffee.’”

If Mark had pillows to spare–or the ability to move around much–he’d throw one at him. “You’re all second to the coffee,” he says. “You should be honored.”

He still hasn’t gotten that cup of coffee–something about worrying about his heart exploding or something–but honestly, he’s not complaining. Not at all.


End file.
